


Reassure

by HereforThis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Language, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereforThis/pseuds/HereforThis
Summary: Just because the war has been officially over for three years doesn’t mean there aren’t lingering effects. Despite finding peace with former enemies and strengthening friendships, there is still the fear of losing it all. Yet happiness can be found even in the darkest of time, if one only remembers to turn on the light.





	Reassure

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know where this came from either, okay? I’m supposed to write a five page essay for tomorrow and yet this is what comes out. But I like soft ship things and I feel like sadness should be a less dramatized thing. It’s okay to be sad and not know why sometimes. What matters is remembering there will be something better on the way.

The house was a compromise where neither side truly lost anything. It wasn't the haunted halls of Grimmauld Place, where every time Harry opened the door, he flinched from the memory of Dumbledore’s ghost. Nor was it the ruins of Godric’s Hollow or the looming corridors of Malfoy Manor, where screams still seemed to echo without a source. And yeah, there were a lot of good memories in those places, but they weren't… loud enough to drown out the bad. So after school ended, they picked a place in the country to just be. Not that it made any difference in how busy they are. 

“No, it’s actually rather clever foreshadowing for character parallels later on-”

“I SWEAR TO MERLIN IF YOU GET FLOUR ON MY NEW JUMPER-”

“DON’T YELL AT ME, YOU ABSOLUTE NIFFLER-”

More conversations flow over Hermione, Pansy, and Ginny but Harry couldn’t catch them if he tried. Ron and Blaise are in a heated argument over Quidditch next to the stone fireplace. Cho and Neville and Parvati trade job stories on the rug between them and the sofa, where Padma and Luna sit listening to Hermione’s literary review. Ginny and Pansy yell at each other in the kitchen, having taken over Harry’s scone-making process before he could get out a bowl. The only one not causing a ruckus is Draco, who lays across the wooden floor behind the sofa and reads while Teddy tries to pile blocks on his chest. 

Minus Seamus and Dean, who were out celebrating their anniversary, it’s a typical Friday night for them at this point. 

Not in the mood to argue or pretend like he understood anything about literary analysis, he settles against the coffee table and listens to Cho talk about pursuing her doctorate. Her eyes caught his when he sat, her mouth curving up in a small way, and then she looks again to Parvati without ever missing a word. The awkwardness passed a long time ago. Harry credits shared trauma. The past remained behind them as much as they could control it. And he much prefers this easiness. 

Not everyone could get to this point. Goyle never recovered from the war, not really. It took a lot of reassuring and coaxing from Malfoy to get him through the make-up eighth year McGonagall offered the survivors. Hannah Abbott lost her mother and her friend Lavender. The twins took turns visiting her, but she drifted and stopped keeping in touch. Theodore Nott fled with his family, brewing somewhere in desperation and hatred. Even Narcissa lost track of them. Story after story poured in about the war, leaving bodies and shells in their wake. 

Neville nudges him and Harry jolts from his downward spiral. The two share a meaningful glance, a Thank You and an Of course. Cho finishes her update and glances at him. “What about you, Harry?” she asks. Her voice is still quiet, but it’s different since seventh year. It no longer sounds a breath away from shattering. “What are you going to do now that you’ve quit pursuing an Auror position?” 

His chest tightens a tad and he breathes deeply, calming himself. He’s talked to Ron, Mione, and Draco about it already, but he wasn’t sure how the others would react to his decision. “Well, uh, I’ve signed on back at school, actually.”

Cho tilts her head, Parvati sitting up straighter. “You passed eighth year,” Parvati says. “Didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did. I meant...I talked to McGonagall and she still needed a DADA teacher because people still think the position’s cursed or something-”

“You’re teaching?”

Blaise pauses in his rant to Ron to cast his eyes down at the lot of them. “Hold on, Potter is what now?”

The room quiets save angry clanging still spilling from the kitchen, though that too ceases with Ginny poking her head out. “What’s happened?” she demands. Teddy’s blocks tumble, his excited squeals overtaking the tension. Everyone is looking at Harry now. 

His neck heats up, flushing his face. His heart beats in his ears. Hero or no hero, being center of attention like this is still intimidating. “I’m going to teach DADA at Hogwarts.”

“Oh,” Ginny says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Good luck with that.” And she breezes back into the kitchen. Yes, he is very, very grateful they remained friends. Her dismissal defuses the group. 

Luna grins from her prim spot on the sofa. “That’s fantastic, Harry!”

“Merlin save us all,” Blaise mutters. 

The rest chime in with various forms of praise and congratulations, Neville especially pleased. “We’ll have to get neighboring offices,” he laughs. “Save us a trip when we talk about students.” 

The pressure in his chest releases with each comment, his mouth relaxing into a content smile. Sometimes he felt like his friends were held together by threads and any allusion to their shared experiences would snap the connections. But now, like most of the time, he remembers his friends are a hell of a lot more stubborn and caring than he gives them credit for. 

“HE’S WHAT NOW?” Another clang in the kitchen before Pansy marches out of the kitchen to stare him down. “You’re going back.”

It isn’t a question, it never is with her, but he nods anyway. 

“You’re teaching Defense.”

“Yeah.” 

“About damn time. Give my best to the Baron when you get back, the wanker. Tell him I haven’t forgiven him and I know where the bones are.” Pansy turns on her heel and stops short, glancing back. “And where the bloody hell is your sifter?” 

Harry blinks, dizzy from trying to keep up with her. “Um, second bottom cabinet.”

“Third bottom cabinet,” Draco corrects loudly, still hidden behind the sofa. 

“How would you know? You don’t bake.” 

A sharp scoff from behind the sofa. “And you never put dishes away.”

Pansy strides back out of sight. Harry represses a sigh, quickly distracted once more by Neville’s eager tangents. Announcement over, Ron and Blaise ignite again, Luna redirecting attention to mythology of moss people. He hears blocks against the floor and high-pitched shriek-giggles, punctuated by raspberries. The shred of annoyance melts away. The night ticks on.

An endless amount of conversation and time later, they’re all lazed about with tummies full of warm, albeit salty scones and a hazy peace. Ginny braids Padma’s hair, who braids Parvati’s. Mione and Ron cuddle in the comfy chair. Blaise, Pansy, and Neville split the sofa, idly watching Luna and Draco. The two blonds sit across from each other on the rug, Teddy waddling between them and changing his features to match. One moment, he’ll make grabby-hands at Draco’s face and glint his eyes grey. The next, Luna delights him and his curls turn to light waves. Little sparkles of magic glitter the air, the Ravenclaw sprouting a flower for the child to feel. 

Harry watches from the kitchen doorway, just finished washing the dishes. Something clutches at him. He wants to freeze everyone right here, keep them in this cozy, happy bubble. They earned it, with blood and tears and forgiveness. It’s only been a few years since school, since they held each other at wandpoint and threw avadas and profanity. Secondary school children shouldn’t have to endure that, but they did. Now university kids, or at least that age range, they’d built bridges instead of walls. 

He wonders if this is how the Wizarding World felt after Voldemort disappeared the first time, after his parents, his mother, vanquished him for another decade. 

Harry retreats into the kitchen, fighting the tightness in his chest and the lump in his throat. It normally isn’t this bad. He doesn’t wake up from nightmares like he used to, crying out for Sirius or Remus or anyone else he cared about that died. He doesn’t hear Tonks or Remus cursing him for leading them to their deaths and leaving their child parentless. Visiting Arthur and Molly no longer lapses into tearful silence for the son they lost. Yet today...he keeps falling into a mental hole. It frustrates him that he can’t stop to enjoy his friends and family, and the frustration leads to more frustration at himself. He picks up a freshly washed tray and starts to dry it the Muggle way, the way he has all his life. 

Teddy’s giggles and the low murmurs of conversation continue, oblivious. Good. 

But then there are footsteps. Paced and quiet footsteps tread to the kitchen. A slim body leans against the counter next to him. Judgemental eyes give him a once-over. 

“Well, now you’re just putting them away to prove me wrong.”

“Yeah. What other point is there if I’m not spiting you?”

“None, obviously. Which is why you’d never get anything done without me.” 

“Did you really come in here just to insult me?”

“What other point is there if I’m not insulting you?”

Harry puts the towel and tray down, reaching for a hand. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

His fingers clasp Malfoy’s, tan against the other boy’s fair skin, and trace over smooth knuckles. A Healer’s hand. He has a t-shirt on, a rarity most days because of how short the sleeves are, but Teddy had spilled something earlier and he put on the next convenient thing. Draco’s tattoo is in full view, covered in blooming narcissi and lilies. They both catch Harry staring at the flowers on his forearm. 

Draco squeezes his hand. “Talk to me.” 

“Three years ago to the day, I was dragged into your living room and you said you had no idea who I was.”

He nods, a small movement of confirmation. “So, you decided to put dishes away?”

“It seemed better than going out back.” He does that sometimes. He goes into the back forest and finds a place to fall asleep until whatever uncomfortable or unpleasant thing waiting at home is gone. Often it’s a memory or a fierce argument: Ron getting harassed at work because he’s the ‘sidekick’ or Mione being ridiculed for SPEW or Draco running into people who see him as a Death Eater. He can’t solve their problems by walking into a forest anymore. Yet he finds himself there, again and again, until Luna or Draco or one of the others wanders in to retrieve him. 

Draco has something like that, but it doesn’t stem from a twisted hero complex or whatever. He becomes cruel, closed off, because if he’s the one inflicting pain then he can avoid his own. The night he found out about the cupboard, the yearly returns to Privet Drive, he had left entirely and spent the night at Blaise’s. Had he stayed, they both knew words would fly that couldn’t be taken back. Words like How pathetic or That explains a lot or Yes, you certainly can tell the wrong sort for yourself. It wouldn’t have been the quiet I’m sorry, love he confessed the next day.

Presently, he pulls Harry closer, closing his eyes, breathing him in. “And why does that send you reeling?”

He shrugs, sighing. “I don’t know. I regret it. I left you defenseless with Voldemort on the way.” 

“That you did, you prick. But I survived.”

He gives a wry smile without much energy in it. “I deserved the Room of Requirement.”

“Stop,” Draco snaps, keeping his volume low. “If you start, I’ll start.” Without starting anything, Draco continues. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” He lets go and storms out, leaving Harry by the sink. 

He would stay there, zoning out, if the soft hum of the others hadn’t risen into noises of movement. Curious and not wanting the others to worry, he returns to the doorway. They’re all getting up, stretching or unfurling limbs and sharing affectionate gestures. Luna kisses his cheek, rising up on her toes. “It was a lovely gathering, Harry. You’ve made a home. I hope you enjoy your school year.” 

He searches the group. “He isn’t chasing you out, is he?”

“Not at all. You know he accommodates most of us for you, yes? Don’t worry about us, we’re all just fine. Simply tired.”

“Bitch, I’m exhausted,” Pansy complains across the room. 

“Join the club,” Parvati quips back. There, next to her. There’s Draco, putting Teddy’s little coat on him and scooping him into an arm. 

Luna ignores the whining. “Goodnight, Harry.” Then she is replaced with Ginny, Neville, the twins, Cho, Blaise and Pansy, all with varying vitriol and embraces. It’s half ten, and usually they stay until well past eleven. They’re probably leaving because of the sudden mood change, no matter what Luna said. Why couldn’t he have kept it together? 

Ron and Hermione are the last to hug and say goodbye, departing in the Floo with promises of lunch the next day. Teddy yawns, arms stretching out towards him. He crosses the room to hug him goodbye, careful not to crowd Draco’s space, but the small bundle latches on and burrows until he’s encompassed by both boys. His hair is still blond, but he looks up at Harry with his own green irises. Something in his heart pulls, entirely like and unlike when his scar used to throb. It doesn’t matter that Teddy lives with Andromeda. He’s over here enough that this, to him, would be family. 

Damn if Harry would ever let Teddy feel like family was anything less than unconditional. 

“Be good for Nan, okay?”

“Uh huh.” 

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

What if I fuck this up? 

“Come on, little cousin,” Draco nudges, and Teddy releases Harry. He starts to turn away when grey eyes flick to his. They aren’t...angry, not like he expected.But he doesn’t know what he sees. He’s never been good at reading people, and especially never good at reading Malfoy. The Slytherin hesitates. “I’ll be right back,” he says. Then he carries Teddy over to the Floo and disappears in a burst of cool flame. 

Alone in the house. It’s uncomfortable to have silence. Even when camping on the run seventh year, there was always Ron’s radio or Hermione whispering protective spells and shifting her weight. Back at Privet Drive, there was always the creak of floorboards or Hedwig settling in. The dormitories at Hogwarts didn’t know the meaning of silence. There's only been one instance where he had a complete lack of sound, back when he had nothing, a brief moment where there was no feel of the forest floor, or sight of green light, or anything… 

He puts a hand over the wand in his back pocket. A ripple of magic washes over the house before he can figure out the words to say. Protect, protect, protect. Then he draws the wand and casts a light cleaning spell, picking up empty glasses and putting them in the sink. 

He shouldn’t have done it with magic. It takes two seconds to do and leaves him antsy. Normally, he and Draco make their rounds together to lock up, something that began with an insecure lack of trust and settled in as a routine. Malfoy knew more spells to keep things hidden and Harry knew more for keeping things protected. Doing it together made sense. How long is he going to take dropping Teddy off?

He wanders over to the bookshelf and thumbs the spine of Hagrid’s scrapbook, other fingers gripping his wand. The book leaves trails in the dust when he tugs it an inch, then stops. He knows if he pulls the scrapbook down, he’ll see his parents smiling. He knows he’ll see them holding him between them, him with his father’s hair and mother’s eyes. Despite just expelling energy, he feels the urge to cast another protective spell. He passes the bookshelf. 

Someone had opened a window to let the room breathe, all the bodies in the confined space crowding the air with heat. With everyone gone, it’s cooled down. He shuts it and flips the lock. 

Teddy’s toys lay abandoned on the floor behind the sofa. He puts them in their trunk by hand, taking care to line the stuffed animals up comfortably. His godson always notices if they’re crammed, and demands they be treated like real friends. 

When he’s finished that, he leans against the sofa and looks over the living room. He’s never been one to think a lot, preferring to take things as they come, but he can’t help it tonight. You’ve made a home, Luna said. Had he? Was he capable of that? He didn’t have much experience to compare this to except the Burrow, and that was because of Molly. What made a home anyways? It isn’t taking care of the place, he did that back at the Dursleys’. Did she mean because all their friends could hang out? Surely Hogwarts was better at that, having agency in classes or meals or activities. Maybe because he was staying put in one place. 

The Floo fires up again, interrupting his contemplation. Draco dusts himself off, stepping out. “How’s your aunt?” Harry asks, relaxing his grip on his wand. 

“Same as always, demands another tea time this week.” He appraises the room and its new state of cleanliness before drawing his own wand, spinning it idly. “Shall we?”

Without waiting for an answer, he starts for the door. Harry follows, unsure of what to say. He’s always been the best at provoking the other, and arguments are usually where they get the most out, but he doesn’t want to push too far and end up alone in the house again. They cast in relative quiet. 

That is, until a certain Slytherin can’t stand it anymore. 

They finish locking everything downstairs and he stops Harry from going upstairs with a hand on his arm. “Normally, I can’t get you to shut up.”

“Normally, you enjoy when I shut up.”

“What’s your bloody problem, Potter? We’re here, we are fine, and there’s no amount of time turners in the wizarding world that can change the past.”

“I don’t-”

“If you say ‘I don’t know’ once more time, I swear-”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what’s wrong!”

“I don’t know, okay?” 

Greys glance down at the grip on his wand, note his glances at the doors. He scans the rest of the room, noticing the moved scrapbook. “Oh, sodding hell,” he sighs, loosening his hold and sliding his arm around Harry’s waist. “You’re fully allowed some domesticity without danger.”

“That’s never how it works. Ask literally anyone I know.”

“I am someone you know, you prick. I know you very well, and the only thing pitching you into this ridiculously morose mood is your stupid hero complex guilting you for something you can’t change.”

Harry rolls his eyes, resisting the embrace. “It’s not a stupid hero complex-”

“Well, it’s something stupid preventing you from being content. And you’d better fix that because you’re dating me, and I’m planning on having bloody peace and quiet for the rest of my natural born life. The war is over and I’m done with it.”

“You don’t know that. There’s still people out there who aren’t finished yet.”

“Like who?”

“Like the Notts?”

It’s Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “I can tell you right now, if you think they’re going to start another movement, you’re wrong. They’re about as persuasive as newts. Just as powerful too.”

“But people like them.”

“Do you honestly believe Theo’s going to burst in the door with a team of rebels any second?”

He feels like a petulant child, frustrated with both Draco and himself. “No.”

“Then what are you pitching a snit about?”

He pushes away to head upstairs. “Oh, forget it. You don’t understand.”

This is typically the point at which they lapse into old habits and someone sleeps on the couch, stewing. It certainly seems to head for that loop when Draco follows on his heels. “What exactly am I not doing well enough for you? Does nothing I do help at all?”

“I said forget it, Malfoy!”

“The only way I’d forget that you don’t feel safe with me is if you hit me with Obliviate-”

“It’s not that-”

“Then what is it?!” Draco pushes him against the wall at the top of the stairs, forcing him to confront the issue. His hands hold him firmly in place. Harry can’t meet his eyes, tracing the collar of his shirt instead. He’s never been good with words. 

“I don’t know.” He slowly bunches Draco’s shirt in his fingers, very aware of contact and very much needing the pressure of someone living. “Everyone I care about always ends up worse off. And you all seem to forget that, like you figure it’s all over and nothing else is ever going to happen. People have died because of me, you all went through hell, I died in that forest, and we’re all sitting around like we’ve paid our dues. Nothing is ever that easy for me. How do we-” his mind blanks for a moment, trying to find the right phrasing. “How do we come back from that without becoming easy targets for the next go round?” 

He hears Draco sigh, but it’s more resigned instead of annoyed. “I blame myself a lot, you know, making you this paranoid by plotting during your entire magical experience. To be fair, I was paranoid for a majority of my childhood too, so there’s that.” 

Harry dips his head down into the hollow of Draco’s shoulder, feeling arms fold in around him. “Prat.” 

“Paranoid idiot.”

Twisting tension in his chest eases with each of the Slytherin’s heartbeats that mark time and vitality. The last half of eighth year, that heartbeat was frantic under his fingertips when he felt it for the first time. When this was a question instead of an answer, laying together in the Astronomy Tower wondering what the fuck just happened. Apparently they made sense to others before they made sense to themselves, no one particularly surprised when they rushed into Arithmancy together the next morning. Mione said something along the lines of “Finally, you’ve both been obsessed for quite long enough,” which he didn’t know whether to be offended or comforted by. It was nothing like dating Ginny or Cho. To be honest, he’s still figuring it all out. 

“You remember how we even got here, right?” Draco guides his chin up, searching his eyes. “And don’t say ‘Inter-House Unity’ or I’m leaving.”

That gets a small smile from the Gryffindor. “You were being a proud, stubborn arse who didn’t want any help from me when people got on you to muck out grief and frustrations about the war.”

“You were being an insufferable hero who decided to take me up as a cause without asking my permission. Rude. Anyway, the point. It’s been a while since any major disasters or damsel-saving or what have you, and you worry you’re missing something. That was going to be taken care of by hunting down dark wizards with Weasley, but that wasn’t right for you, so now there’s no outlet. But you don’t have to save anyone because you’ve done it, alright? And should anything come, we’ll be ready, but there’s no need to rescue anyone for the present.”

“You’re back to the hero complex thing.”

“I’m back to the hero complex thing. You have a hero complex thing.”

“I just don’t want to feel…” he shrugs, looking away again. “I don’t know.”

He hears a pause, Draco taking a deep breath. Then all at once “I was trying to avoid being a sentimental idiot but you’re being impossible so I guess I have to admit that you keep saving me, even after we almost killed each other multiple times, and you didn’t deserve the betrayal after the Room of Requirement, and that that’s what I regret when it’s one AM and you’re asleep next to me, but you still stay anyways which is stupid and illogical and means everything, and if you ever repeat that to anyone I’ll spell your head up your ass.” 

That makes him look back up. It’s rare to see Draco unguarded in any capacity. Even while playing with Teddy, the man had a stinging retort ready should anyone comment. He filed every memory of waking up for Malfoy’s nightmares, staying up until 3 when they’re both punch-drunk, watching him shift when something triggers him. He could count those instances on both hands. 

A better kind of pressure holds his heart. He brushes a warm kiss against his lips. “I love you too.”

For a shining moment, they look at each other with every regret laid bare to be forgiven. He doesn’t know who leans in first, but they’re kissing again, slow and soft until his eyes slide shut and his heart hammers. Teeth gently catch his lip, nibbling apologies. He flattens his palms, running them over his chest, his collar, his shoulders to play at the nape of his neck. It’s always a fire when they’re together, their fierce blazes satisfying but not the same as this uncommon, tenuous burning. When they break for breath, Draco tugging his lip between his teeth and gazing with half-lidded eyes, he decides he most definitely prefers this.

“I love you,” Harry repeats. He presses it under Draco’s ear, along his jaw, back against his mouth. A litany of ‘I love you’s. Maybe if he said it enough times, it would sink into his skin, embed in his veins, protect him like Lily’s love protected Harry. Maybe that’s the magic he inherited; not to destroy, but to defend. 

A wry smile. “Yeah, you might've mentioned that.” 

At least, to defend against everything but exasperated whacks to the arm.


End file.
